When You're Gone, I'll Still Love You
by DogWorks
Summary: Lyra and Will are still not over each other. Time doesn't heal, it just makes things worse. OCC Characters are much more older and experienced . A lot of new characters. Second fanfic, YAY! R&R! In between K and T eventhough it's a bit closer to K .
1. Dead of The Night

_**Another Fanfiction! I have no idea why I write sad, dramatic stories because, most of the time, I am happy as a fluffy bunny eating lettuce in the sun. TEEHEE! *Jumping randomly up and down* Anyways, on with the story. *clearing throat***_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own His Dark Materials and if I did, I wouldn't be here, right? **_

_**Genre: Tragedy, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, friendship, fantasy, etc. I know, so much right? So I'll just stick to Hurt/comfort and Romance, ok?**_

_**Summary: Lyra and Will are still not over each other. Time doesn't heal, it just makes things worse. I'm still not sure if they should, somehow, return to each other or, that they will find a spouse that subtly reminds them of their lover. So, stay tuned because if the first chapter didn't make you cry, you should go see a doctor to check if you're alive or actually a living corpse with no feeling whatsoever. **_

A bead of sweat rolled off my eyebrow and hit the pavement. Connor doesn't know I'm here. He never knew. Not even after all these years. Seven, to be precise. My bottom lip trembles, Pan with it, his sleek body running up my sleeve so that he nestles in the crook of my neck, in between my throat and shoulder bone. I can now see the garden's gates.

I pass all the fountains and flowers whilst making sure no one is there. Pan runs off through the trees to make sure no one will see or hear. It will only be me and him. It's easier like this, not to tell anyone. I reach the white bench and, just as I sit down, I murmur, "Will." I cry out. The agonizing pain is there. Right beneath my soul, my heart, it burns. A hot, wet tear strikes the cobbled stonework. My chest heaves. My heart aches. It physically hurts to be away from him. Tear after tear slide and I hold the bench with all my strength to not put my head in my hands.

When you love someone, when you love someone with all your heart, and they are suddenly gone in a wisp, it kills you from the inside. It's living torture. You wish to die, but you know, deep down, that you will still be tortured unless that same person, that you love so much, will finally come to be with you. As long as you live, and even when you die, you will always love that someone and, if they never unite with you again, you will always be hurt. And, eventhough you will do everything you could to hide it, to forget it, you will always be rotten from the inside. It will start small, yes you feel sad, but then it will grow larger and larger, then, it will shrink your soul and hurt it as much as it can.

My hideous cry pierces the air, and the tears run off, hot and wet, forming a puddle on the ground. Pan sits on my shoulder and weeps. My eyes are swollen and my cheeks red. We sit there, Will and I, and weep like this. Every single year. Time doesn't heal. It never will.

The pinch in my soul is like, physically, a knife in the gut. "Will!" I hear myself cry. Please Will, please come back! Stop this torture! Will! I'm dead without you! Come to me! Oh Will! Please! I crave your touch with every atom of my body!

The first time the pain occurred I was surprised I wasn't bleeding, and I was twelve at the time. This boy, I don't remember his name, asked me out and I, automatically, said I already had a boyfriend, Will. He didn't believe me but I didn't care, I told him that I was not going to cheat on him and he, who I knew was deep down hurt from the rejection, laughed at me and told me to go get a life. I just shrugged and watched him run off. Right after he ran off, it started the, killing, torturing, agonizing heart ache.

The hours run off. It's way past midnight.

Quick steps are heard. "Is someone there?" A soft, male's voice quietly echoed inside the Botanic Garden of Oxford.

Pan, gasping, whispers, "Come on Lyra. You know you don't want someone to know. I want Kirjava too. I do. You don't want this, a person finding out. Do you? You don't want Addison to find out. Because if she will, she will be heartbroken because her mother never really loved her father, she loved someone else." My pitiful cries start to turn into soft, choked whines and, as Pan gently tries to pull into safety, out of harms way, we disappear into the surrounding trees' shadows. After one last strangled cry, we're gone as if from the face of the Earth, Pan, coat and all. Will, my heart, my soul, is craved. I will see you again my love. Next year.

_**Soooooooooooooo?!!???!? Did you like it? R&R! Pwease?! Give the pwr doggy a bone! Because no story is a real story unless it has feedback. You know, I am so desperate I will even be happy to get a flame (ok maybe not, but I am desperate!!!!)!**_


	2. My Second World

_**I don't own His Dark Materials; I'm just using some of the characters to make a tragic love story.**_

Evan's snores woke me up. I push him hard off the bed I was sleeping in and, as he shouts, "What? What happened?"

I say grumpily, "Get off the bed."

Kirjava whines and asks me, "What's going on?" but I'm too tired to answer her.

"Um, newsflash buddy. This is my house. Not yours, mine. Got it? So I'm the only one who can say, 'Get off the bed,' not you." True.

Beaver, Evan's dæmon, barks and howls because of the reluctant awakening. Beaver really did adapt to his animalistic traits, he is a Belgian Shepard, you see. Apparently daemons have really simple names, or maybe nicknames (because Beaver is a nickname to Thaleron, Beaver's real name [who pretty much used to his new name]) these days.

With fluffy, yellowish-beige and black long fur, pointy, but soft, black ears and a pinkish tongue, it is weird to hear him talk, so he sticks to expressing his feelings in other ways.

Yes, my best friend, Evan, has a daemon of the same sex. Apparently, it isn't so rare in this world. It is often that I hear male daemons trying to speak to their male owner on the street.

"Sorry, man. For a second I thought that I was in my house, and you drove to my house just to sneak inside my bed and fall asleep."

"You actually think I'm that bad?" He asks in a mock hurt voice.

"Um, pretty much, yeah." He scoffs as I laugh at his reaction.

"That hurts really much, ya know. After all, you are my best friend." He mocks in a hurt voice and says, back in his normal deep bass, "Well I'm gonna go get some breakfast. You want some?"

"Watcha got?"

*

I raise my eyebrows at the Captain Crunch cereal box, whilst Evan munches away.

"What?"

I laugh, "You eat this every day?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever," and I pour a large sum of cereal into a bowl.

*

I go to Evan's smallest bathroom, eventhough it's still bigger than any other small bathroom, because I don't want to leech on his stuff, I need to be grateful after all. She did kick me out of the house. I brush my teeth very quickly, without looking in the mirror then wash my face and sigh.

I lean on the marble sink, looking in the mirror. A handsome face stares back at me. My dark hair is rough and long, almost covering my ears and neck, curling in the edges. I didn't shave in a while, so that grayish-brown stubble is clearly visible. A small tear escapes my deep, sad, cautious, dark brown eyes. My lips slightly tremble.

_Lyra, I came to see you last night. In my mind, you looked so beautiful. Full, red lips, kind eyes, and bouncy, golden curls, like the last time we've seen each other._

_I imagined that you were happy, and you didn't come there for me. You came there with your husband and children. And that he brought his parents along. _

_I imagined that you forgot me, and fell in love with someone else. Not because I don't love you, no! But because I have always wanted you to be happy, even if it is a life without me. _

_I didn't cry. Not because I wasn't full of grief. Of course I was! My heart was and will always be broken! But because I couldn't bear you to get sad, couldn't bear you to think I was crying. I need to stay strong for both of us. If I did cry, you would've too, I know that much. I love you Lyra, I want you and only you. _

_I feel a warm hand touch my cheek, it is soft and gentle. It is Lyra's hand. I try to touch the hand, but I touch something very cold. My face._

A sudden bang wakes me up from my thoughts. "Will? You ok?" Evan shouts from behind the locked door. I notice I'm on the floor, covered in sweat. Kirjava is what seems to be asleep, her subtle fur glistening with what appears to be sweat as well. She must be dreaming, or more likely unconscious but thinking, about Pan. I shake her a bit.

"Pan…?" She whispers.

"No, it's me."

"What's going on?" Evan shouts from behind the door.

I suddenly notice my surroundings. Lots of items and objects are on a mess on the floor. An Ed Hardy deodorant stick is in the sink and a Hugo Boss aftershave bottle shattered by the fall. I must've collapsed and took down some very expensive stuff with me.

I never told Evan about Lyra, the Subtle Knife, the worlds out there or Dust. He got his daemon because he said he will keep this a secret, and he stood by this promise. I taught him how to see his daemon, my daemon and other daemons walking with their unknowing owners.

When we were sixteen, he briefly saw Kirjava's tail because he looked at the same spot, without blinking, for four minutes straight. He did so because he was drunk. We snuck a couple of beer cans to the orphanage, and he drunk five cans, then dozed with his eyes open and after the encounter, begged me to tell him what happened that night.

After he saved me from the orphanage bully, by ramming him into the back yard fence and graffiting, "I'm such a low self esteemed loser with no life." Then threatening the kid not to tell the head of the orphanage that he did it, or he will tell the head of the orphanage that he bullied other kids all the time. I told him how to see his daemon, Beaver.

Beaver and Kirjava could only be heard by whoever could see daemons, hear daemons and apparently summon daemons (teach the owner how to communicate with their daemons). Beaver is heard scratching on the door. He whines.

"Oh, I know what this is about." What? How could he know? Fear in the pit of my stomach rises and something very dark clutches my heart. Panic.

"Did you tell him anything?" Kirjava, answer me! Please," I whisper urgently. Kirjava shakes her head.

"Never." Whew, good.

"It's your divorce with Melanie, right? You're feeling down, and with Sophie and Teddy. But I promise you that it'll be fine. Ok? I promise, please Will, just open the door. Please."

I turn to the mirror. A poker face stares back. I look at Kirjava, she looks back. Poker face. I nod. Alright, here we go.

I open the door. Beaver, who was scratching on the door for the whole time, almost bumped into me, but Kirjava collided with him just in time.

Evan stood up, for he was sitting down on the wooden floor, his fingers barely touching the door, and said, "I'll make sure Melanie will let you see them at least thrice a week. If I'll be your lawyer, who I will be of course, I'll win this little argument in court." True.

Evan is a lawyer, a really good one too. He is very intimidating in both ways. The first one is physical intimidation. After all, the whole population on this Earth depends on good and bad first impressions. It's the only thing they know. Trust me, I would know, living in this world. Why is Evan physically intimidating? Evan is a beast. He is huge. Owning arms as hard as steel and as big as two baby rhinos, with broad shoulders and a neck as thick as a small tree trunk, Evan is very threatening.

But, eventhough of his intimidating, bad-ass physique, Evan is, emotionally still a typical teen you find these days, outside of work of course. Inside of work, he is focused, a person you don't want to mess with and seems ten years wiser than he really is. Outside of work he is suddenly very childish, loving to play on the playstation, drinking beer and screwing around like a T.T (typical teen).

Don't get me wrong, I do that as well. Once, when we were in our twenties, we even invited drinking buddies from all over Oxford and played Counter Strike with paintball guns and body armor in a WallMart store. We got kicked out of course, with a bill on all the stuff we wrecked and a warning that if we ever do that again we'll get arrested. But that's why he's my buddy. Because he is fun, and makes me forget for just a few seconds about Lyra and think how life is good.

"Ok man. I'll make sure to bring you along in court. Melanie will be real happy about that." Ya, right. "Oh, Ev, can I borrow your suit jacket? I'm having a meeting with Melanie and her lawyer, and Melanie still has all my stuff."

"Sure, man. Take the white one, it's the nicest."

"Then don't you need that one? Because don't you have a meeting or something as well?"

"Nope, I don't. So I'm just gonna grab whatever I want to wear and go to the old pub and enjoy myself. Have some drinks, watch some football with some friends and then I'll come back totally drunk and sleep it off or go home with one of the beautiful, or not-so-beautiful, ladies in the bar. Have a crazy night and then have a hangover. I don't really care." Typical Evan.

"Ok then. Thanks bro." After spraying some real rich-boy deodorant, I slip on a white shirt, some jeans and, to Evan's dismay, a faded brown suit top. His very best (or modest). "Hey, man. I don't want to steal all your stuff. Just your very old and modest stuff." Kirjava jumped on my shoulder.

He laughed as we left the building with powerful strides, me trying to look tougher and more focused than I was. I slipped into Evan's most modest car. A shiny, 1957 light blue Chevy with a bit of rust on the hood of the tires that Evan was about to fix.

I drove through the streets of London and then outside of London, into the outskirts where we used to live, farming fields looking like green fluffy carpets you would like to lay on. I rolled into the last parking space in the garage and step out of it. I walked up the steps as I look at the medium sized, white painted house, and the green garden that I trimmed down on my spare time. All these memories come flashing suddenly.

The first time we kissed, moving in here, her tanned skin under my touch, our happy times together, the way she looked when she was trying to convince me into something, our fights.

I stopped there. I didn't love Melanie, I don't love her. I never loved her. But she was the closest thing to real true love ever since I came back. She understood me best. And except Evan, she was my best friend. Well I guess it changed as we grew older. I don't think she ever really loved me either. She only chose me because I was the better guy. I never cheated on her, I never hurt her and I was always nice and she was always comfortable around me. But, we never should have been together. We were only ever good as friends. Nothing more than that.

I rang the bell.

She opened the door. Oh, how much I love her. This beautiful, beautiful angel is what I still live for. She, alone fills my mind. Kirjava spurs with love towards her. She fluffs her fur in love and appreciation, as she and I both love her the most.

Now, for just a brief moment, I forget about Lyra and the divorce and Evan and my job and had a mind for her and only her.

My second world.

**_Did you like it? Reveiw please! Tell me what you thought, it'll be a tragic end to this story if no onee reveiws :(. So pwease do! I'm begging!_**


	3. Teddy

**Disclaimer: I didn't write His Dark Materials and I will never own it. Just read, enjoy, review, and don't get pissed off that I didn't update for ages. For all the few people who actually read and enjoyed this, I apologize whole-heartedly. I'm truly sorry that I didn't update for a long, long time, but I was stuck on the plot. Again, I'm truly sorry, I really am.**

_It was a typical Wednesday evening when they both agreed on a divorce. Neither the woman nor the man looked devastated. The man took the woman in both his arms and embraced her gently, knowing she won't resist. They still loved each other, though they weren't __in__ love with each other. After a while they both pulled away. The man said, "I'll call you" and was about to go upstairs and pack when a small brown suitcase caught his eye. "You already planned this, didn't you?" He was angry at her for doing this, as if he suddenly understood her by her actions. "You are going to take my own kids from me?"_

"_Yes, I did. I'm going to do everything in my power to gain custody of my children, Will. I love them so much. I'm sorry Will, I really am. I decided this a while ago. You will keep in touch with them, I promise." __Will was furious. He punched the wall. The wall buckled by the force and left a dent as his knuckles started to bleed._

"_Oh, this is bullshit! You're taking them from me? Over my dead body! I love them as much as you do, if not more! I can't believe you are doing this to me!" He hammered his bruised and bleeding fist into the wall again. Then put his head in his hands. He was livid._

_The woman wasn't expecting this. "What's wrong with you? You seriously didn't see this coming? After all these years? You don't love me! You don't, Will! We just can't stay together! I love my children and I will gain custody of them." _

"_You are __not __going to take them from me! My attorney will sit so hard on your ass you will wish you have never done this." He was raving mad. He could hurt somebody. Really hurt someone. He was closing in on her. She noticed._

"_Will, get out of this house! Right. Now!" She pushed him outside, he didn't resist. All of his life he has never hurt a woman, ever. He wasn't going to break this rule now. When the door slammed he pounded with his fists on the frosted glass. The clouds were a very dark purple, a big bruise on the pale yellow sky. Rain began to pour as the sky split in two with a thunderous cry. All one could see was a silhouette of a man, rain continuously beating him down as the figure repeatedly thumped the glass, shouting insults and crying all the while, his breath steaming up the glass._

_A little girl was sitting on the stairs as this took place, cowering into her tiny hands as she shook violently, trying not to make a sound as the tears streamed down her face._

Little Sophie was only five years old when Melanie and Will agreed for a divorce. She still loved her father very much, even after what he has done, and always jumped into her father's arms whenever he came to visit.

He was here now.

"Daddy!"

"Hey baby girl! How are you today?" Will hugged her tightly. He was so happy to see her. Kirjava purred in delight.

"Great! Now that you're here!" She clutched his jacket with tiny little hands. Will picked her up.

"Whoa! Someone's gotten heavy!" He lied as he untruthfully huffed to make her seem heavier. She laughed with delight. He changed her position a couple of times as if to find the most comfortable way of holding a very heavy object. Will decided to carry her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder.

He crossed the hallway, Kirjava by his side, entered a larger-than-usual kitchen and thought about how he caved in when Melanie wanted a big space for her cooking. _She barely even cooked when I was around!_ He thought to himself.

And there she was; Melanie.

"Hello," Will greeted her with a wave and a smile. She was on the phone. Kirjava watched her from the counter with dark green eyes. Sophie patted her father's cheek and went up across his face until she reached the jackpot, his dark and wavy hair. She plucked at it and stroked it and pushed his long hair back on top of his head. His hair did not mend. It fell back into place, noiselessly flopping unto his ears and forehead – a feathery mess.

"No, Kevin, that's not what I want, you tell her to tell him that I won't be back for a couple of hours. Well I don't care if she doesn't listen, I'm busy." She hung up the phone.

"Hey Will, just come in," for Will was hovering near the doorway, an awkward position when you're holding a five-year-old on your shoulder with one hand and hesitantly doodling with your index finger on the gray marble countertop with the other.

He placed Sophie on the counter and hugged her whilst saying "Go on, daddy's got to talk to mommy just now, but I'll catch up with you later. Ok honey?" Sophie kissed him on the cheek, jumped down from the counter and sprinted up the stairs. Will looked at Melanie, Kirjava hasn't moved, she was still staring at Melanie; if looks could kill…

"You seem busy, you sure you want a meeting today? I can always come tomorrow."

"No Will, because Jimmy can't do it tomorrow, and neither can I," Her hand came to her forehead, and Will thought she looked tired. Really tired. Melanie had dark rings under her eyes and her hair was in disarray; her body seemed slumped and feeble, almost breakable. It's hard to take care of everything all the time.

"Do you want anything to drink?" _Since when did anyone ask me if I wanted a drink?_ Will thought.

"No thanks, I'm not thirsty."

Suddenly there was a slam of a door. A young boy around the age of nine came rushing through the door. He opened the fridge and took out a small bottle of orange juice and slammed the fridge's door shut.

"What's wron-?"

"Nothing!" The boy shouted and ran up the stairs, his hands clenched to form fists of rage.

Will watched the transition with immense horror and sadness. He could not believe that this little boy who used to be so cheerful and exuberant became so angry in just little than a week's time when he hasn't seen him.

"Like father like son," Melanie uttered just loudly enough so Will could detect what she said. He became neither cynical nor sarcastic like she had expected. _I would face the consequences of my mistakes_, he thought.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Will told her as he hurried up the stairs with a sudden sense of purpose.

"I wouldn't do that…" She replied.

"You don't tell me what to do; he's just a son to me as he is to you."

When he reached the top of the stairs he gently shoved open the boy's door; his room was three doors to the right, in between Sophie's bedroom and the children's bathroom.

Will was shocked to see what was in front of his eyes. Just a week ago the boy's room was tidy and clean, a cute forest themed room, with army green walls and a bright green carpet to suggest a feeling of a forest's floor. There used to be a wooden desk and bookshelf, neatly stacked with chapter books of boys going off to dangerous adventures and coming back alive and well with big grins etched across their faces and prizes in their hands, whether it's money or food or the mean giant's treasure chest, filled with gold and silver.

But now the young boy's room was messy and dirty, so much so that it seemed to be done on purpose. The carpet was muddy and stained with orange juice and Coke. The bookcase was vandalized, the wood was scarred with scratches and scraps mad from pens, pencils and penknives; some places so much so that the wood began to flake, scattering pieces of wood across the room. The chapter books were in a big heap on the floor and some had torn pages in them. The desk was doodled on with pen marks and the boy's bed, which used to be the cleanest, freshest place in the boy's room, was now covered with pen ink and white-out; the mattress was stepped on with muddy soles, and the blanket was stained with orange juice; it was lying on the floor.

The boy was sitting on the headboard of the bed's wooden frame, his skinny body leaning against the wall.

"Teddy, why are you doing this?" Will asked the child.

"Leave me alone." Ted warned.

"No, I'm not going to leave you alone until you answer me," Will replied gently, trying to calm Ted.

"Get out of my room! You don't even live here anymore!"

"Ted, I am your father. It does not make a difference whether I live in this household or not." Will whispered menacingly. He immediately felt bad for doing so, and instantly softened his voice towards the youngster. "You will clean this room until its spick and span and you will not come out of this room until it is. If your mother ever sees this it's the end of you." Ted scowled. "You should be happy I came here first. Otherwise your mother would've killed you and put your head on a platter."

Ted looked up at his father with big brown eyes, his spiky hair almost poking the wall, his soft cheeks red with anger. He opened up the bottle of juice and with a glint in his eye he playfully asked his father something. He tipped the bottle so that the mouth was at a dangerous angle of spilling orange juice all over the mattress. Teddy didn't care.

"Don't."

"Watch me," said the boy teasingly, and as Will made a move to impede the spillage, Ted flicked his wrist. The mattress immediately started to soak up the juice and, in just a few seconds, a large orange stain was spreading like wildfire across it.

"THEODORE RUSSELL PARRY!" Will bellowed, "OUT, NOW!"

Unfortunately, Ted Russell Parry seemed to have forgotten his father's wrath after only a week, but this bark sharpened his senses and screwed his head back in the right place. He scrambled down the headboard, onto the mattress, onto the rug and, quick as a flash, he was out the door.

"What's going on up there?" Melanie rushed into the room, saw the damage, and expertly snatched Ted's arm so he won't be able to extricate himself away and bound for the bathroom, the only lockable door in the house, aside from the master bedroom.

"Teddy!" Melanie said with alarm. "What is this?"

Teddy mumbled something incoherently, Will gently shoved him.

"What?" he elongated the word's vowel so it will make the boy speak.

"Nothing."

"If it's such a big nothing, how come there are so many somethings in it?" Will replied, Ted was confused.

"I'm confused."

Will couldn't care less. His right eye would always crinkle up whenever he would question someone whilst being angry at them. His right eye crinkled as he inquiringly shook his head at the boy. "Just clean it."

"Yezzir," the boy stammered. Ted quickly walked away from his parents and down the hall, shaking his fists due to the abstract form of rage.

**So, what didja think? Was it everything you hoped it would be? Disappointed? Enraged or pissed off? For the two former ones – please review. If you're disappointed, please list why and some tips for further improvement – always a pleasure. For the latter, well – I couldn't care less.**


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